


The Sketch

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23184133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Aziraphale picks up an old hobby in the 1980s.For the GGOSO.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 65





	The Sketch

It was a bitterly cold day in London, and Aziraphale was bored. Bored beyond belief, and lonely to boot. Crowley had been distinguished by his absence for the last few years, and Aziraphale- well, he didn't _miss_ him, obviously. They were adversaries; there was no fond feeling there at all. Why, only twenty years earlier he had given the foul fiend the method of his own destruction. That was hardly the action of a friend. 

He hadn't seen Crowley since.

Well, they'd gone longer without running into one another. Aziraphale had amused himself quite capably in the past, and he would do so again now. He would simply find a new hobby and throw himself into it.

He had a pencil and a letter from the Inland Revenue just sitting on his desk - they wanted to audit him _again,_ but he suspected they were going to miraculously forget all about it for at least a few years - so he turned the letter over and found himself with a blank page, perfect for a little sketching. He poised his pencil, then cast his eye around for something to draw. He was surrounded by bookcases, but he didn't want to be confined by straight, sharp lines. Straight lines could be so dull, and wasn't the whole point of the exercise to beat his boredom?

He let his mind wander, his hand drifting idly over the page as he thought about some of his favourite things.

Books, naturally. He'd recently got his hands on a rather wonderful antique volume of _The Black Knight,_ a collection of rather outlandish bedtime stories. He had glanced through it, briefly, just out of idle curiosity, and found that several of the adventures described therein actually did resemble stories Crowley had told him over the years. He had set the book aside for later perusal - not because he was jealous that Crowley had clearly told his stories to somebody else, of course, but because he was very busy and had lots of other things to read. He didn't think he would attempt to draw a knight; the armour was very complicated and Aziraphale didn't quite remember how it all went together. It would be terrible to draw something inaccurate, especially for his first attempt in centuries. What else did he like?

Pears. Apples. _Pineapples._ Fruit, in general, really. He never ate apples in front of Crowley, of course; original sin could be a point of pride or shame for the demon, depending on his mood, and Aziraphale never wanted to risk upsetting him, or even giving him a memory of Aziraphale eating an apple that might upset him later. Not because he _liked_ him, of course. It was simply that Aziraphale had _manners._

Perhaps a still life, then, he thought to himself; a nice arrangement of fruits and other objects. He could include some books, their straight edges a pleasing contrast to the curves of the fruits-

"Looking good, angel."

Aziraphale jumped, his pencil clattering to the desk as he turned to face his unexpected visitor.

"Crowley! What are you doing here?"

The demon shrugged. "Well, I was going to take you to lunch, see if you fancied covering a temptation or two next week, but I see you're busy."

"Busy? No, n-" He glanced down at his paper and the words _not at all_ died in his throat.

While he had been very busy trying to think of something to draw, it seemed his hand had had ideas of its own; elegantly-looped graphite trails consumed most of the page, forming the coils of a partially-shaded snake. Aziraphale had no memory of filling in all those scales, but he supposed he must have done; there they were, staring up at him from the page, along with those unmistakable eyes.

"Snake, huh? Didn't know you liked them."

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley and was surprised to find no hint of teasing in his expression.

"Oh, well. You know. All Her creatures, you know…"

"Well, yeah, but… the love you've put into this. The detail. Those eyes. They're almost like mine, but you've made them so beautiful. Are you going to colour this?"

"I don't know." Aziraphale looked between Crowley's wistful expression and his drawing. "Yes, I think I will. This bit-" He reached out to touch the cross-hatching on the snake's back. "-black."

"And here? Will this be a lighter colour?" Crowley reached past Aziraphale to ghost his fingers over the unshaded belly of the picture.

"Yes. Red." He knew it, even without having given it any thought. He knew he had been thinking about drawing his favourite things; therefore, this snake was one of his favourite things.

"Red?" Crowley stilled behind him. "Oh, that's… well, almost like me."

"Yes," Aziraphale admitted, his voice suddenly sounding very small.

"If the eyes were yellow, that is."

"They would be." He didn't dare turn to look into those very eyes; he kept his attention fixed on the paper in front of him as he slowly, carefully moved his hand to brush against Crowley's.

"Oh." He felt it, rather than heard it, Crowley's breath tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. "It'ssssss me."

"Yes. You're- well. What other snake would I draw?"

"Why me?"

"Does it need to be said, dear?" He'd rather not say it; it was safer if they both just knew.

"Angel." A forked tongue flickered against the back of Aziraphale's ear, making him shiver. "You _like_ that sssssnake."

"Not just the snake," Aziraphale admitted, and he heard Crowley gasp. "You haven't been a snake in a long time."

“Ssurprised you remember,” Crowley agreed softly.

“Of course I remember. You were the most beautiful creature in that garden.”

“ _You_ were in the garden.”

It seemed wrong, somehow, to turn around; it felt as though a spell would be broken and the fragile understanding between them would shatter. Still, Aziraphale braced himself and turned. And there Crowley was, patient, waiting - always waiting - for Aziraphale to reach a decision.

“I’d like to see your snake form again, one day,” Aziraphale admitted, a secret never to be shared beyond the two of them. “I’d like to see all of you.”

And Crowley smiled, that hesitant, delighted smile that Aziraphale so loved to see.

“One day.”


End file.
